


Ivdkuranavyja

by CandyQueenAO3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Depends on Your Definition I Suppose, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Horror, I'm Not Sure if This is a Happy Ending or an Unhappy Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, so heads up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3
Summary: His eyes flew once more, unbidden, to the sentence; that one sentence, only seven little words, that promised him everything.Could it really be true? Really so simple? With only a single touch of skin?Before he even realized what was happening, he was peeling off his gloves with trembling fingers.  His now-bare hand hovered over the page, just centimeters away from its surface.He wondered if this was the wise thing to do.He wondered if this was how Eve had felt.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	Ivdkuranavyja

**Author's Note:**

> A collab for "A Big Spooky Fan Zine" that I'm only just NOW getting around to posting lol. Art for this fic was done by the MARVELLOUS JoulesBourne. Find more of her work at crowleymowley.tumblr.com and mine at candyqueenblog.tumblr.com!

Aziraphale had been looking for this book for _centuries._

When he’d finally gotten wind that it had been spotted being passed around various museums in Damascus, he’d wasted no time in acquiring it for his personal collection. The less said about _that_ the better, but, in short, it had taken no less than four lengthy transfer applications, three personal visits, two generous charitable donations, and one evening spent engaging in a fierce verbal debate over the merits of ownership regarding pieces of history.

But, by the end, Aziraphale was the proud owner of…

...a locked box.

He stared down at said box, heavy and dark on his desk, with an air of defeated finality. The box itself was composed of some type of blackened, warped metal, with a heavy chain and padlock wrapped around it like some sadomasochistic Christmas bow. It would be a trivial matter for an Angel of the Lord to remove the chain (either by miracle or by sheer physical force), but it was the _principle_ of the thing.

The curator he’d finally manage to wrest the book away from hadn’t even given him a _key!_

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that meant that he’d been scammed or if there was simply no key to begin with, but it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. He laid his hands upon the chains, cold as ice, and ripped them away with hardly an iota of effort.

Almost instantly, the box’s lid popped open with a rusty shriek, and Aziraphale got to lay his eyes on his newest treasure for the first time.

The book itself was wholly unremarkable. The cover was made of some unidentifiable leather, faded light-brown with age and so dry as to be almost paperlike. There were no other distinguishing characteristics on said cover, apart from a single word written in a blackened scrawl that looked more like it had been burnt than penned: _Ivdkuranavyja_

Aziraphale slid on a pair of gloves and reverently lifted the aged tome from the casing which had housed it for who knew how long. The angel was almost giddy with excitement as he carefully peeled back the cover to take a look at the book’s contents.

Empty.

Blank.

The yellowed, uneven pages were bare.

Not even so much as a single penmark.

_A forgery!_

Aziraphale made a breathless noise of outraged frustration and would have smote the counterfeit book to atoms, were it not for the faint, skittering noises that pricked his ears. At first, he feared the fake may have been infested with weevils but, before his eyes, letters appeared on the page as if written by an invisible hand.

**_Aziraphale_ ** _._

The angel squawked and leapt out of his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste to stand. He tensed, prepared to either flee or defend himself, when the scratching sounds picked up again.

**_Aziraphale, Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden._ **

“How… how do you know my name? What I am?” said guardian whispered, cautiously inching closer to the book.

**_I can give you what you want._ **

Aziraphale glared down at it. “What I _want_ is to not have a possessed book in my shop,” he huffed. The words on the page continued staring up at him. “What are you then? A demon possessing a book?”

**_Not a demon._ **

Aziraphale felt all indignation fade away to be replaced with gentle concern.

“A human then?” he asked with a nervous wring of his hands. “Were you trapped in there?”

**_Hamlet 1.5.167-8_ **

Aziraphale squinted at the bizarre string of numbers, then his eyes blew wide.

“‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’,” he quoted.

**_And there are things older than either._ **

Aziraphale dropped numbly into his chair. Subconsciously, almost against his will, his eyes drifted to where the book promised to give him what he wanted.

“I… I don’t see how you can,” he said hesitantly, clenching his hands together in his lap. “W-what I want isn’t yours to give.”

**_Touch me._ **

“At least take me to dinner first,” Aziraphale snarked, loath to let his nerves get the better of him. The book remained silent. With an annoyed tut, the angel laid his gloved hand upon a page. He jerked his hand back immediately as more words sprang to life right beneath his white-clad fingertips.

**_Your skin._ **

“My wha-” Aziraphale’s words died down as the meaning sunk in. He turned his hand until it was palm-up.

This was a bad idea.

He could practically _hear_ Crowley screaming at him not to do something so _stupid._

And yet…

His eyes flew once more, unbidden, to the sentence; that _one_ sentence, only seven little words, that promised him everything. 

Could it really be true? Really so simple? With only a single touch of skin?  
Before he even realized what was happening, he was peeling off his gloves with trembling fingers. His now-bare hand hovered over the page, just _centimeters_ away from its surface.

He wondered if this was the wise thing to do.

He wondered if this was how Eve had felt.

With a single whispered exhale, he touched the page.

Almost immediately he was immolated by the _violating_ feel of fingers digging into every cell of his corporation. They hooked in, bringing with them the sensation of being ripped apart on the submolecular level. Aziraphale howled and scratched at his arms, trying desperately to rip away the unseen hands as he thrashed and writhed.

His skin felt aflame, and his superfluous heart pounded in his chest. By God it felt like his _brain_ was too large for his skull!

Aziraphale screamed and clawed at his hair as if that would _somehow_ lessen the pressure.

_“I can give you what you want,”_

The voice in his head sounded like the wind over dead leaves, the last exhale before endless darkness, the sound of paper catching alight.

“I… I d-don’t want… _this!”_ Aziraphale managed to sob with what little breath remained in his lungs.

_“I can give you what you want. All you have to do is let me in. Let me_ **_see,”_ **

Aziraphale clenched his jaw until it ached and feebly shook his head. He _just_ had to hold out long enough for Crowley to come save him - like he _always_ did.

_“Let me in, and watch how he runs to you. He will give you his love, he will_ **_beg_ ** _you for yours,”_

Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut and clenched and unclenched his fist, the other hand scratching at the floorboards.He whined, a tear escaping to trace a scorching path down his cheek.

_“...angel…”_

That one word, whispered in Crowley’s own voice, destroyed Aziraphale’s resolve; shattered it, _ruined it._

“Okay. Okayokayokayokayokay…” he whimpered, curling in on himself.

All at once, the agony stopped and Aziraphale…

Succumbed.

  
  


***~*~*~*~***

  
  


Crowley peeled up in front of the bookshop and braked so hard that the tire marks behind his Bentley caught alight with Hellfire for a split second before fizzling out. He flung himself out of the driver’s seat with a cry of, _“Aziraphale!”,_ much to the chagrin of passersby.

Crowley paid them no mind, snapping his fingers to throw open the shop doors. He stubbornly refused to recognize how this was almost a perfect parallel to what he had been the worst day of his long, _long_ existence (even worse than his own Fall) and stepped into the bookshop.

He’d always been able to sense when Aziraphale was in danger, be it from overzealous revolutionaries or the angel’s naivety in regards to his own espionage skills. As of twenty minutes ago, every single warning in Crowley’s brain had lit up and practically screamed at him to _go! Go to the bookshop! Aziraphale needs you!_

“Aziraphale!” he shouted again, bursting into the room.

He wasn’t sure what he would see upon arrival. He expected Gabriel, that wanker, or maybe Hastur, come back for revenge. To his surprise and relief, Aziraphale was hale and whole. The angel sat in one of his overstuffed lounge chairs, a decrepit-looking brown book open in his lap. Crowley moved to chastise Aziraphale for giving him such a fright, but froze as he took a step forward.

The angel looked…

Different.

Instead of the usual creams and browns, he was dressed in starch-white and… purple?! His shirt and trousers were white enough to almost gleam, but his waistcoat and overcoat were a rich, royal purple. In fact, the entire ensemble looked startlingly _modern,_ with a flawless cut and black loafers polished to a mirror shine.

Despite the unease prickling in the back of his mind, Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale looked _fantastic._ Crowley swallowed and came closer.

“What’s with the, uh… change in attire?” he asked. “You felt like mixing things up a bit?”

For a second, Aziraphale didn’t reply, and the silence ratched up the tempo of Crowley’s pulse. 

Finally, his friend turned to face him. “Crowley, my darling! How wonderful to see you! I _knew_ you’d come for me!” he said, voice light and happy.

Crowley gasped and stumbled backwards.

His _eyes!_

Instead of the ethereal blue-grey eyes that Crowley had spent so long loving, Aziraphale’s eyes had gone an unnatural shade of lime-green and they practically seemed to glow from within. The demon stood rooted to the spot in mute horror as Aziraphale gently closed the book and set it down on the table beside him. He stood up in a graceful, fluid movement and stood in front of Crowley until they were practically chest-to-chest. Aziraphale gave him a wide, joyous smile.

“Aziraphale what’s… what’s _happened_ to you?” Crowley whimpered, his face falling in grief. “Who did this to you?”

Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and pressed their bodies close together, practically purring as he did so.

“I̷̳̟̔v̶̰̟͌̈́d̷̙̓k̶̦̬̏u̶̝̼̿͝r̷̛͉̦͕̍͘ă̸̖̺̮n̸̨͒̃a̵̠̋͒ṽ̵͕̆ÿ̷̫́̕j̴̮̄̀a̴̬̋ did nothing to me that I didn’t ask It to,” he replied. Crowley’s brows shot to his hairline at the brazen physical flirtation. “It promised me that you would be here if I let it see the world through my eyes.”

He ducked out of the circle of Aziraphale’s arms and staggered back with a gasp. “Wha- what are you _talking_ about?!” he demanded, his eyes never once leaving the angel’s face. With a simple sideways shift in metaphysical vision, Crowley peered into his friend’s True Form. It hovered there in the Void Between, as bright as ever, but a roiling mass writhed in the middle of it. Iridescent tendrils had managed to tangle themselves into the Form’s many limbs and arches. The visual effect was not unlike melted bubblegum wadded into a computer processor, or a hand shoved into a sock puppet. Crowley wrenched back to himself. “You’ve been possessed!”

Aziraphale made a sour face and shook his head. “‘Possessed’ is such an _ugly_ word. Is it really ‘possession’ if I _wanted_ this to occur?” he asked, chin raised as if he were scolding Crowley for using inappropriate language.

His eyes flickered back to its proper shade for a split second before resuming their hideous luminescence.

“There’s no way on Mum’s Green Earth that you would have allowed… _that_ to happen!” Crowley shouted, his voice choked with emotion. He seized Aziraphale’s wrist in a near-crushing grip, but the angel simply sighed happily as if they were holding hands on a romantic stroll. “That thing inside you is obviously manipulating you! And I _will_ pull it out!”

Crowley brought his other hand up and pressed the tips of all five fingers to Aziraphale’s forehead. He closed his eyes and concentrated on untangling the strands from his friend’s True Form.

He was _instantly_ met with resistance.

Something electric, something that felt distressingly like Divine energy, ripped through Crowley’s body and he was blown back across the room in a shower of sparks and a clap of thunder. He howled as his back smashed into a bookshelf and he crumpled to the floor in a singed heap.

Aziraphale stepped closer, straightening his own rumpled sleeve cuff, his face apologetic and eyes flickering between blue and green like a strobe effect. “Terribly sorry about that, darling, but I’ll have you know it’s quite rude to go rooting around in someone’s True Form like that,” he tutted disapprovingly.

Crowley shivered and pushed himself onto his hands and knees with a groan of pain. “Angel, did… did you just _Smite_ me?” he asked in a quiet, but unmistakably hurt voice.

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered briefly from green to blue, then he nodded sadly. “Indeed. But I _had_ to!” he said. That admission felt like a punch to the gut for Crowley and, if the bookshelf hadn’t already done the job, he would have felt the wind driven out of him. “I couldn’t allow you to separate me from I̵͉͙̓v̴̨̫͙̇d̸̤̘͓̒k̸̗͕̈̀̓ǘ̸̧̻̪͊͘r̸̳̣̬̆͝ą̵͇̂ṅ̵̰̲̬̾͠a̴̱̗̎̏v̴̼̿̒̂y̶̞͕̙̑́j̴͙̽̉ͅa̵̛̺!” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself and swayed lightly on the spot as he hummed giddily, like giving the entity inside his body a hug.

“You… you’ve _never_ Smote me before…” Crowley whispered, almost quiet enough to not be heard. He let his forehead rest on the floor and he sniffed. Aziraphale would have _never_ hurt him had he been in his right mind. It was clear to Crowley that the thing possessing him held more control than he’d previously expected or been prepared to face.

Still, he was _not_ going to give his angel up without a fight.

Even if he needed to hurt Aziraphale in order to free him.

While Crowley didn’t relish the idea of knocking Aziraphale unconscious, it looked to be his only option if he wanted to exorcise him without being blown to smithereens. His claws gouged the floor beneath him and, quick as a striking cobra, he lunged at Aziraphale with a roar.

His cry was cut off by a powerful hand clamping closed around his throat and keeping him at arm’s length. Crowley choked and scrabbled at Aziraphale’s arm. 

The angel’s face was crestfallen, and he loosened his hold enough to grant Crowley air. “Please, my love, can’t we be civil about this? Let’s talk!”

“‘Talk’?! You want to _‘talk’?!”_ Crowley spat. He was no longer speaking to Aziraphale, but the Entity within. “If the next words out of his mouth aren’t ‘I’m going to release Aziraphale’, then you and I have _nothing_ to talk about you son of a bitch!”

Aziraphale sighed. “He can’t hear you, Crowley. It’s just me.”

_“Bullshit!”_

“It _is!”_ he protested. “I _meant_ what I said, Crowley! I _let_ Į̸̼͗̐́v̵̺d̵̲̻̗̅̉͒k̸͉̦u̶̱̖r̶̪͊͋a̴̯̯͎̾̋͑ṅ̷͉̍à̴̩͎̊̑v̵͍̀y̷̻̜͈̍j̶̨͖̦͋̂a̴̜͎͊̾̌ do this! Thanks to It, I have everything I could ever want.”

“And what would _that_ be?” Crowley snarled, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Did that thing promise you endless books? The fanciest crepes? You could have those _yourself,_ you didn’t _need_ it to give them to you!”

Aziraphale’s hand drifted from Crowley’s neck to his arm. With the other, he lovingly caressed the demon’s face.

“It promised me _you,”_ he said softly. “All I’ve ever wanted was _you,_ my love.”

Crowley’s first instinct was denial.

No way.

There was surely _no way in any reality_ that Aziraphale felt the same way he did. It simply wasn’t _possible._

But then again, the proof was standing right in front of him, bedecked in purple and white. The Entity had doubtless seen what Aziraphale desired most, and promised it to him. It had taken advantage of the angel’s innermost desire to have Crowley return his love, and possessed him completely. Crowley felt outraged tears stinging at his eyes.

If they had just been a little braver after Armageddoff, if they had simply _talked_ about their feelings, _none_ of this would have happened. Instead, they’d both received everything they could have wanted, but twisted and warped as to be unrecognizable; a love-confession borne out of desperation and grief. Crowley sniffed, letting the tears flow freely, and he lifted his own hand to Aziraphale’s face, who leaned into it with a happy little noise.

“Oh, angel…” the demon wept. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me? I love you too. I’ve _always_ loved you.”

Aziraphale released a sigh, looking truly contrite for the first time since Crowley walked through the doors. “How _could_ I have told you?” he asked, voice heavy with sorrow. “I’m not exactly what you would call… desirable. And what if my feelings weren’t returned? I could never live with myself had I allowed my own silly heart to jeopardize our friendship. It’s the one thing in all of Creation I hold above all else; even above Her.”

“Then come _back_ to me, Aziraphale!” Crowley begged, his hands coming to rest on the other’s shoulders and shaking them lightly. His breathing was laboured and he stared at the man-shaped being across from him in manic desperation. His whole body trembled. “Come _back!_ You can fight this thing, I _know_ you can! _Please,_ sweetheart, _please!”_

His tears flowed anew when he felt Aziraphale’s bare hand come to rest atop his own. “We both know that I can’t,” Aziraphale said quietly, fixing Crowley with a pointed stare. “I’ve seen what I̷͉̟̻̍v̵̙̪̹̆d̷̙͓̪̂k̴̖̑ũ̶̳̍̚r̴̝̲͝a̶͕͊n̸̤͓̽͠a̴̜͙͛v̷͉͇̘͛̾y̸̧̰͆̉̈́j̸̫̔̆̆a̴̞͆ͅ can give us. Not just each other, but _everything_ we could ever want. With It, we could be _free. Truly free!_ Heaven and Hell could never touch us again, and we could continue living our lives on Earth together, but closer than _ever_ before! We could live as one mind, one heart, one _soul!”_

“W-what are you… sssssaying?” Crowley rasped, letting Aziraphale run his hands comfortingly up and down the length of his arms.

“I’m saying that all you need to do to make every single one of our dreams come true…” Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to whisper into Crowley’s ear. “...is to let It in. Let It _see.”_

Crowley uttered a noise of disgust and roughly shoved Aziraphale away.

“I _knew it!”_ he snarled. “That’ssssss not my angel talking! That’s _You!”_

Aziraphale’s face fell, his bottom lip wobbling as if he were about to cry. “I… I don’t understand! What are you-” He was cut off by his own agonized cry as he staggered backwards, clutching the side of his head.

_“Aziraphale!”_

The angel sobbed and groaned, practically tearing his own hair out at the roots. He screamed in two separate voices and hunched double. Crowley stood frozen in stunned horror. What the _fuck_ was going on?! 

When Aziraphale looked up, his face was crumpled in agony and a torrent of tears waterfalled down his face. His body shook with sobs.

“Crowley…” he hiccuped. “H-help…”

Those two words, whispered in a pleading voice - _Aziraphale’s_ voice - had Crowley leaping into action. His hands came up to frame Aziraphale’s face.

“Come _on,_ angel! Fight It!” he urged.

“I… I can’t,” Aziraphale whimpered, the green already beginning to stain the edges of his irises. “It… It’s too strong! I’m sorry! I’m sorr-“

Crowley shushed him and ran one hand through sweat-soaked curls.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” he said in a soothing whisper. “You don’t have to fight It alone. I’m here, I’m here…”

Aziraphale groaned again, his fingers clutching Crowley’s arm hard enough to nearly break the skin.

“I _can’t!”_ he gasped with a defeated shake of his head. “It’s… It’s too strong…” He feebly tried to push Crowley away from him. “You… you need to run, my love. Run _far_ from me and my- my _foolishness.”_

Crowley dug his heels in. _“No!”_ Before Aziraphale could protest further, Crowley tenderly cupped his face again. “I love you, Aziraphale,” the demon said hoarsely, pouring every last ounce of adoration he had into the words. “So come back to me.”

And he kissed him.

He felt Aziraphale stiffen in his arms with a muffled noise of surprise.

Crowley merely tilted his head to adjust the angle of their first - and he _desperately_ hoped it wouldn’t be the last - kiss. One second ticked by. Two seconds. Three. When no Smiting was forthcoming, Crowley carefully pulled away. He opened his eyes.

Aziraphale was looking at him with a watery smile. His face was splotchy and red with old tears, but his _eyes…_

His eyes were his own again.

“Oh, _Crowley…”_ he sniffled around a tremulous laugh.

“Angel?”

Crowley’s hesitant utterance was met with a relieved sigh and the feel of soft fingers carding through the hair on his nape.

“It’s _me,”_ whispered Aziraphale. “Oh, my dear, you… you…”

The hand grip on his neck turned harsh, and Crowley howled in pain as his hair was sharply yanked and he was forced to his knees. He stared up at Aziraphale’s towering form.

A green, alien light shone from his eyes.

“...you really shouldn’t be taken in by sob stories…”

***~*~*~*~***

The village of Tadfield was still. All of its residents, few though they were, had gone to bed for the night, leaving the hamlet completely silent. With the full moon shining in a cloudless sky overhead, and the brown-gold autumn leaves cast in midnight blue, it looked right out of a quaint country still-life.

The serenity was observed impassively by two supernatural entities who hovered in the chilly air above the village proper. Aziraphale watched, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, as a car trundled down the village’s main street and out of the town limits back towards Oxford. Beside him, Crowley slipped his hand into his, entwining their fingers together.

Looking back over the events of the evening, Crowley couldn’t _believe_ that he had once railed against the idea of letting Î̶̩v̴̱͠d̶̬̟̚k̸̛̘̭̂u̷̖̒́r̴̺̥͛a̸̼̝̋n̵͔̫̓ȧ̸̰́v̸̰͖̌̃ỷ̴̠j̵̘̤̾̑a̷̗͕͝ into his mind. I̴̞͇͌͂v̴̟̏d̷̼͖̀k̵̞̈́͐u̴͇̓̓ŕ̷̭̞a̸̦̳͗ņ̸̈̈́a̷͙̖͛̚v̴̪͐y̴͈̔̃j̶͇̓̄a̸̤̖̓̕ had delivered everything It said It would, and _more._

The sensation of looking through his _own_ eyes, as _well_ as Aziraphale’s - and in turn having the angel look through his - had been a bit of a struggle, but Crowley found that he was quickly getting used to it. The pair no longer spoke, not feeling the need to anymore.

Speech was rather superfluous when one’s own thoughts were practically indistinguishable from the being’s beside you.

_Sorry about taking so long, angel._

_It’s quite alright. You got there in the end. I’m sorry for hurting you._

_Nah, ‘s fine. I had it coming. ‘M glad we decided to do this._

_Me too. I must say you look_ **_dashing_ ** _in that colour. Reminds me of the days back in Byzantium._

_You think so?_

Crowley thumbed at the wine-red hem of his shirt. Aziraphale felt the coarse texture of it beneath his own fingers.

_I_ **_know_ ** _so, darling._

_So… what happens now?_

His question was entirely rhetorical.

As one, their oil-slick iridescent wings beating in perfect unison, they turned their eyes to Tadfield below.

**_̴̥͗͜"̶̣̮̆͑Ń̵̗ö̵̟̰́w̶͍̾̾.̸͓̰̑.̵̢̂̔ͅ.̷͖̉͋ ̵͇̻̋̇ẘ̷̧͎̾ȩ̵̠̓ ̴̢͝b̵̺̲̅̏e̷̱̐g̴͉͇͂̎ī̷̼n̵̟̜.̷͇͎͆͆"̵̖̤̀_ **


End file.
